


Senses

by Lidsworth



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, This Pairing Needs More Love - Freeform, blind takeomi, takuki, urie being an ass to everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, it wasn't the guilt that kept him there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sognare-non-aiuta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sognare-non-aiuta).



> This is a request for tumblr user sognare-non-aiuta . I hope you all enjoy (and please contribute to our small Takuki ship!)  
> As always, I beta'd everything myself. There may be mistakes.

It had been out of sheer guilt that Urie had even decided to take Kuroiwa back home after his surgery. Originally, he had planned to high tail it out of the hospital the moment that Kuroiwa's limp body had been removed from the ambulance stretcher, and placed onto the marble floors of the hospital, where it was than rolled down the hallway into the ER.

 

It had been his own cowardly attempt to try and eradicate Takeomi's heroic actions—the reason that Kuroiwa was in the hospital to begin with—from the forefront of his mind.

 

 

Urie had never asked Takeomi to 'take the bullet' for him, in fact, if Urie remembered correctly, Takeomi should have been nowhere near him. That was a break in formation! So why, and how Takeomi Kuroiwa had 'poofed' himself before the Quinx member, Urie hadn't a clue.

 

But within three seconds, there had been a human body shielding Urie (who's healing was taking longer than usual—of course) from the sharp, ruby edges of ukaku spikes that had found themselves whistling through the night air. And had it not been for Takeomi, they certainly would've done a serious amount of damage on Urie.

 

So of course he had to go and play hero, like Urie needed saving (though to be honest, he did. But the mere thought of receiving help from Takeomi Kuroiwa disgusted him more than anything ever had).

 

 

The mission had wrapped itself up with surprising swiftness afterwards, for Takeomi's agonizing shrill had been more than enough to distract the surrounding ghouls (as well as the most of the surrounding investigators). And with their attention directed elsewhere, the small distraction had given the field investigators the leverage they needed to turn the tides of the battle.

 

Medical teams had been dispatched almost immediately after the last ghoul was killed, and because, ONLY because Takeomi Kuroidiot had taken it upon himself to act as a human shield—like Urie actually needed his help—the Quinx member decided to ride in the ambulance with him.

 

(He wouldn't be surprised of Takeomi received a promotion for his acts, the CCG picked favorites all the time).

 

It was just guilt! How on earth would it look of Urie walked off, and left Kuroiwa bleeding on the ground (though Urie secretly admitted to himself that he was very worried, indeed. Takeomi hadn't moved at all, not since he'd been plastered with ukaku shards. Even in the ambulance, things weren't looking incredibly well. The ghoul had managed to get his eyes).

 

So that put Urie where he was now, sitting in the waiting room, waiting for the surgery to end (God knows how long that would take). It was a busy room, with the movie theater style rows full of individuals waiting to be called up the to desk. Above them hung a large, flat screen television that demanded the attention of the majority of those waiting. Given its size and the inconsiderate volume it had been set on, it was unfortunately too hard to ignore.

 

 

He'd already been subjected to severe optical torture, as the television had played three, child's classic movies in the amount of time he'd stuck there. The actors were terrible and the plot was even more so.

 

And to make matters worse, his team had called him more than once. Of course, Mutsuki and Shirazu had been the most frequent of the bunch. Shirazu, he could understand. The ginger haired boy had manged to leave long, colorful texts about how he needed to “get his ass back home” and how his “silent act was fuckign annoying”.

 

He nearly puked when he saw the number of “concerned” text from Mutsuki. “You should be home by now, this isn't good for your health” “Sasaki is getting worried” “Where are you?” . After deleting Mutsuki's number, he placed his phone back in his pocket (he only added it out of pity, but it was a waste of SIM card space).

 

He had no intention of taking any advice from a hypocrite such as Mutsuki. Who the hell was Mutsuki to be educating him? Life advice? From Mutsuki, please. He didn't believe a word that came out of that idiots mouth.

 

Though to be fair, their concern was understandable.

 

Urie had disappeared quite swiftly after the battle. His team had no idea where he was, and for the sake of his pride, he had no intention of telling them (though maybe, just maybe, he'd text Shirazu after this was finished).

 

When the fourth movie played, Urie desperately craved a pencil and a piece of paper. He'd been there for more than four hours, and seeing as the mission had ended at around ten p.m, it was already two a.m. By now, the exhaustion was certainly overriding the guilt, and given the time, Urie considered stopping by the next morning. And ten minutes later, it was no longer a consideration. The ghoul investigator found himself standing at full height, just about ready to leave the establishment.

 

Though as soon as set off to leave, the high pitched voice of the desk receptionist flowed into the waiting room, the name “Urie” on her tongue. He whipped his head around with enough force to cause him whiplash, and cursed himself for the unnecessary amount of concern that he showed.

 

“Urie Kuki? You were here for Kuroiwa? He's ready to be seen now,” The receptionist beckoned him towards her desk, where she shared with him the location of Takeomi's room. “Even after waking from surgery, Kuroiwa is very talkative and alert. Despite his injuries, his other senses are incredible,” said the nurse as she sent him away, “We've already told him that he has a visitor.”  
  
Damn it. So there went Urie's chance of coming up with some half-assed excuse as to why he suddenly had to leave. The time to be vocal about his reluctance to visit had passed as quickly as it always had, and before Urie even realized it, his mind had engraved the directions into his brain. He was on his way to Takeomi's room

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Takeomi's head moved towards the door at the sound of Urie's foot steps. Just by the way in which they tapped against the ground—cautions and careful, reluctant—Takeomi could immediately identify them. He wondered, did Urie always walk like that around him, like he didn't want to be there?

 

It was incredible to realize just how much he noticed without his sight. The feet stopped as they stepped over the threshold, and a small gasp erupted from Urie's mouth as he presumably saw _it._

 

A strained silence hung about the atmosphere as Urie investigated Takeomi himself. His appearance had taken the investigator by surprise, as he'd been “looking” away at first, towards the window that hung on the opposite side of the room. Though as soon as Urie had found himself stepping into the room, Takeomi's head had snapped towards him immediately, and at the moment Urie had braced himself for a conversation, though the words fell right off of his lips.

 

They “stared” at one another, Urie in disbelief, and Takeomi indifferent (the idiot had probably accepted it as fate).

 

The guilt that followed soon afterwards hit him like a wall of tumbling bricks.  _That_ could not be permanent, it could not. Because if  _it_ was permanent,  _it_ would have been Urie's fault that  _it_ had happened in the first place. 

 

He had to make sure that the gauze suffocating Takeomi's eyes was temporary, had to make sure that pain and suffering that followed afterwards would be no fault of his.

 

Clearing his throat (it sounded like a metal bullet to a room full of windows), Urie spoke.

 

“Kuroiwa that...that isn't permanent, is it?” it sounded more like plea than it did concern—and to be honest, it was not the latter at all.

 

“I'm afraid it is Urie, the injury was too deep to be fixed,” Takeomi responded with greater ease than he'd believed possible. After telling his parents that their only son would no longer be able to be an investigator, their reaction alone had been enough to scare him from telling anyone else. They wanted it under “wraps”. Typical, he was their failed prodigy, his failure would no doubt bring an undeserved amount of shame on the family, and of course it would be his fault.

 

Urie stood there, mouth agape, and for the first time in forever, he could find actual words that seemed fitting for the situation, “I didn't ask you to save me, Takeomi.”

 

“I know, Urie,” Takeomi smiled as his bandaged gaze bore right into Urie, “But you would have done the same for me.”

 

“No, I wouldn't, what on earth gave you that idea? ” Urie hadn't meant to let such a sour confession escape his lips, but quite uncharacteristically of him, his mouth had been open more than it usually was, and it seemed that the filter between his brain and his mouth had all but evaporated.

 

_What on earth gave you that idea?_ The question went unanswered as Takeomi presumably thought of what to say. There was nothing to say of course, no answer that would magically supply some sort of dramatic buildup for the actions that had taken place hours ago. There was no friendship between the two, there was hardly an acquaintanceship, nothing. 

 

Though Takeomi's mouth still opened, and Urie braced himself for whatever bull shit the ex-investigator would spew out of his mouth in the next few seconds. 

 

“Because your father did the same for mine,” said Takeomi, “I thought you'd be like him.” 

 

If there had ever been a bad time to have the details of his fathers death—the actual details—revealed to him, this had to be it. The guilt no longer felt like bricks—no, it felt like a deadly infection. It started from Urie's heart, and singed itself through the wet walls of organs surrounding the heart. 

 

Kuroiwa had not abandoned his father? His father had sacrificed himself? Why was he not told of this? Why on earth...did they not want him to hate the Kuroiwas? Was that it. From what he remembered, his father was like that. Always lying for the expensive of others, always keeping silent for the sake of others. 

 

The feeling of failure followed the inferno that had become his body. There was a reputation to be continued with his late father, a reputation that he had certainly fallen short of. Suddenly, he felt as if his old man was standing behind him, arms crossed in an exaggerated manner, closing his eyes in sheer disappointment. 

 

And the sense of personal failure Urie felt was indescribable. He was supposed to be his father's son...now he was a selfish brat. If anything, it was Takeomi who was Urie's son. Why did it take Takeomi's injury for him to realize this? 

 

Takeomi by now had turned his attention back to the window. It was nice to finally realize that the one who he cared about dearly hated his guts. His father and Urie were very much alike. Perhaps it had been a mistake, saving Urie, bringing his career to an end, and disappointing his family. Perhaps he should have let Urie die on the field. 

 

No, Takeomi despite his frustration, was not like that. He didn't regret what he did. Not at all. He saved someone's life, even if that person was the most ungrateful child to ever walk the face of the earth. 

 

The footsteps made more sense now. Urie never liked him, not even as a friend. He hated being around him, hated having to talk to him, hated everything about him. Takeomi had no idea why, he wasn't mean to Urie, or anything like that. Was it his father's death? Was it the fact that Takeomi was better than Urie, as far as field combat went? Takeomi could not control his lineage—and he tried, but he could not. He wanted to be his own person, not “Kuroiwa's son”. 

 

So perhaps this entire ordeal was a blessing in disguise. 

 

While Takeomi looked away, Urie searched for something to say. Funny, he could speak when he wanted to insult the poor boy, but when he needed to apologize, his voice ran scared. Though he forced himself to say  _something._

 

“Do your parents know?” Urie wasn't sure who had visited Takeomi, he'd been so entranced in those terrible movies that he hadn't been able to see who was arriving and leaving.   
  
“They were the first to know, Urie,” he responded coldly. 

 

“How did they take it?” 

 

“Well, I'm not at home.”   
  
“Do you have a ride?” 

 

“...” 

 

“Takeomi,do you-”   
“No, I don't, Urie. But I don't need you offering me a ride out of pity,” Takeomi allowed himself to slip back into his sheets, “you can leave now.”  
  
“Not without you,” of course he hadn't meant to say that, but he hadn't meant to say a lot of things that evening. However, his voice was working against him. Takeomi sat up once more, and turned to Urie. 

 

“You don't even have a car,” he pointed out, “You don't even know where I live.”   
  
Urie grumbled, “It's called a taxi, and if you don't feel like telling me your address, it's called a hotel..”  
  
Even without his eyes, the expression of distaste was evident on Takeomi's features. 

 

“Alright, Urie,” replied the blind man, “you can take me home.” 

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Urie's signature was on the release paper, and though he signed his signature on numerous, work repeated documents, this seemed like the most official of them all. 

 

Upon their departure, the hospital staff insisted that Takeomi leave with a wheelchair, as his medication could render him slightly tipsy. Of course he declined, but the hospital insisted, and before the duo knew it, Urie was rolling the taller man out onto the busy sidewalk that lay before the hospital, and into the nearest cab he could find. 

 

Urie had found out Takeomi's address, so as soon as he let the driver know where it was, they set off on a silent car ride. Urie looked out of the window, as the city lights peeked into the vehicle, and Takeomi found himself falling asleep on Urie's shoulder.

 

Normally, no one had the gall to rest their head atop of Urie's shoulder, and if they did, Urie would not hesitate to brush them off. But Takeomi deserved the rest, because life afterwards would not be so kind to him. 

 

When they arrived at the apartment, Takeomi was too deep in his sleep to realize where they were. After handing the taxi driver the exact amount, Urie took Kuroiwa into his arms, the driver grabbed the wheel chair, and exited both the vehicle. Navigating with him and reaching for the key underneath the “Welcome Home” mat hadn't been easy, but Urie managed. And of course, the driver had placed the wheelchair by the front door, and left. 

 

When inside, he found what must have been Kuroiwa's bedroom, and placed him gently on top of the bed. 

 

Seeing that the ex-investigator was rested soundly, Urie turned on his heel, and made to leave. He would have a pissed of Shirazu to answer to, an irrelevant Mutsuki, a concerned Haise, and Saiko, well, Saiko didn't matter much. That was his “family” anyway, that's what he had to return to. 

 

Though returning to that place...something seemed off about it. Something seemed different now that he'd met Takeomi again. 

 

So against his better judgment, Urie stayed the night. And it wasn't guilt keeping him there. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! I did, I may write a sequel, who knows. Have a wonderful week, and God bless!


End file.
